The Hunger Games: The Blank Year
by Sylvanna
Summary: *Still needed list for tributes on my profile*  The year where everyone was picked randomly, because the records were lost...
1. Information Chapter

_**Please note that all information is avaliable on my profile. **_

_**Forms may be COPIED from previously submitted ones in the reviews. **_

_**PM submissions.**_

_**[This chapter will be deleted soon]**_


	2. Bree Ryin

_**Bree**_

_**Disctrict 1**_

(Male spot for this Disctrict is still open. Please see the form to submit by PM. This story cannot continue until a male tribute is submitted. You have 48 hours to comply to this.)

I arose the morning ready for the Reaping. I was going to volunteer this year, against my parent's wishes. I walked slowly to the bathroom, and brushed my golden brown hair out until it shined. I didn't need any makeup or anything, so I put on my Reaping outfit. It was a cream tunic with brown leggings to wear underneath. I walked up to the 15-year-old section, and stood quietly. My best friend Gigi walked up to me.

"You been training?" she asked in a whisper. I nodded. I'd been training for the past 2 years for this moment. My mom was sick in the hospital, with cancer, so the fortune would pay for her treatment. And the fame...well, the fame would hopefully land me a boyfriend. Maybe. Our escort, Polly Rickeshay, walked up to the podium.

"And for this year's tributes...after re-examining the evidence, we've come to a decision. Bree Ryin is going to be the female tribute." she said. Wow! Won't have to volunteer now! My family's shock almost makes me regret my own plans.


	3. Alex Rider

_**Alex Rider, District 1**_

I woke up screaming. That is, at the dream. Again. So I'm not the brightest, but it still haunts me. My mom, Hail, was wading through clear, turqouise water. Then she starts to drown. The water quickly envelopes her silvery black hair, and she's screaming for my help. I can't get to her in time, and the water runs red with her blood. My _Mom's _blood. Then, in a quick flash of light, I wake. It's terrible. But no matter. I sit up and run a hand through my short black hair. Our housekeeper, Maridian walks in and looks concerned.

"Are you okay, Mr. Rider? Do I need to get your mother?" she asks with her Spanish accent. I shake my head. She leaves, and I shut the deep cherry mahogany door and dress for the Reaping. Sturdy black jeans and a T-shirt should do okay. I walk into our fully-stocked kitchen. My mother, Hail, is looking at me with her steely blue eyes. My Dad is sitting next to her, reading the dreary newspaper of our District. As if there was anything to tell. His own brown eyes that I inherited are the same deep cherry as my bedroom door. They're glaring at me icily.

"So...the Reaping." my Father says casually. My mother fiddles with her diamond-encrusted wedding ring nervously.

"Don't volunteer, okay? Your friend Gigi mentioned that you thought about it." my mother added quickly, her voice catching a little. I stepped back, surprised. Gigi was the popular girl at school, with her sunstreaked red hair and well-defined freckles. Why would she...? Nevermind. I simply don't want to know. I shook my head. My parents get up from their chairs and my mom grabs her purse.

"Well. It's about time to head downtown." she said. She heads towards to stables, where we keep our carriage horses, Tay and Lot. My Dad hitches them up once a year, just for the Reaping. I mean, we could always take our car, but my mom insists on 'keeping the tradition.' I rest myself in the nooks of the leather seats of our carriage. We reach the downtown square soon, and I climb out of the carriage. Gigi smirks at me as I head towards the 18-year-old section. Our escort, Polly Rickeshay, takes the stand, her hair in little brown corkscrews.

"And for this year's tributes...after re-examining the evidence, we've come to a decision. Bree Ryin is going to be the female tribute." she said cheerily. A girl from the 15-year-old section walks up. Her golden-brown hair glints in the sunshine. Surprisingly, no one volunteers. The next contestant is announced.

"And for the male tribute...Etts McMount!" she says, clapping. Before I register what I'm doing, I'm up on the stage. I just volunteered. My mother is shedding tears, but my Dad is no where to be found. Surprise, surprise. The girl and I are ushered to a train cart, as the railroad crosses through the square. She looks up at me, and her bright green eyes bore into me.

"You volunteered. Why?" she asks plainly. The answer finds its way out of my mouth before it can be stopped.

"I wanted to get away. Everyone thinks that I'm stupid." I answer. She nods, her head dropping back into her lap. She mumbles what sounds like a protest at being here. I know the feeling.

_**Apology for switching tenses on you guys.**_


	4. Livaria Stark

**_Livaria "Liv" Stark, District 2_**

I stretched out my arms at the new day. The day of the Reaping.

My orphanage-mates were awake, and their little bent beds were already made. They certainly weren't comfortable with their sheets and paper-thin matresses, we were still required by Ms. Otterson to make them every morning.

Arabeske; the most liked girl in the orphanage, walked into my room, her gray uniform dress looking good on her. She smiled, her black hair brushing her shoulders.

"Almost time for the Reaping! Are you coming? Deliliah and Daffy will save you a spot, if you want." she said, her gray eyes glittering. I nodded, and went to get on my most prized possesion, a light pink dress with matching shoes. It may not seem like much, but it's all that my family left me. I was found holding in it a bundle close to my chubby three-year-old arms, wandering around the fields of our District. I finished dressing, then headed outside to walk to the Reaping centre. Secretly, I've been training for years with the bully of the orphanage, Phenilia, in trade for some of my wild blackberries. We don't get much food, either, so Phenilia welcomed the trad. I rubbed my face, hoping that somehow my freckles will disappear. Phenelia's heavy steps echoed behind me.

"So, girl, you gonna volunteer?" she asked, sneering. I grabbed handfulls of my dress to keep from knocking a tooth of hers out right then and there. Phenilia laughed.

"Okay then, don't tell me. But for my secrecy I ask a price..." she gestured with a beefy hand to her mouth. I nodded faintly, thinking that once I volunteered, I wouldn't have to pay anyone for their silence. I walked over to the 16-year-old section and wedged myself between two boys. They both looked over at me with annoyance as Wesseline, our escort, took the stage.

"Well, hello District 2!" she shouted, streching her pale lips into a smile.

"Our tributes, due to complications, were picked randomly! And this year's are... for the female tribute, Arabaske DuPointe!" she shouted. I snatched a shred of a look at Arabeske. Pale silver tears were tracing her face, and her pink lips were open.

"I volunteer!" I shouted, a split second before the whole 18-year-old section. Arabeske ran over and hugged me tightly before anything else happened.

"Oh, no! Liv, you don't have to..." she trailed off, her bottom lip trembling.

"No, no, Arabeske, it's okay. I'll be back soon." I said reassuringly. Wesseline coughed into the microphone.

"Now, if Livaria will please join me onstage..." she said. I pulled myself from Arabeske and headed onto the creaky wooden stage.

"And now for our male tribute, Celsus Pheonix!" Wesseline practically screamed into the microphone. A tall boy with swoopy blonde hair walked up onstage from the 13-year-old section, waving at all the girls. I may have been seeing things, but I thought I saw a few faint.

"As everyone knows, only one volunteer from our District can be allowed, so let's get our winners on the road!" she said cheerily. We were ushered (AKA manhandled) to the train cart with 'Disctrict 2' written on it. The boy was a large bit taller than me, but he held out his hand. I shook it.

"So..." he said awkwardly. So indeed.

"Look," I said bluntly, "Let's just get these Games over with. No attachments, no problems. Got it?" I asked. He nodded, looking stung.

The thing is, I wasn't sorry. I meant what I said.

**_Did anyone catch the ballet reference? No? Leave it in a review for 2 extra points for the tribute of your choice! If you're first at the RIGHT answer, you get the points! Leave your review in the following format:_**

**_My Answer: XX_**

**_Send the points to: XX of District XX_**


	5. Celsus Pheonix

_**Celsus Pheonix, District 2**_

My life is so perfect. I hate to brag, but I've got enemies out the wahoo.

I've got over 100 methods to kill them. And the funny thing? They think that they're my friends. As if. I woke up, and then dressed in grey jeans and a striped shirt, with my favorite beanie. You know, the one that makes me look hot. As soon as I walk out of my house, Tally Pickenheigger walked up to me.

"Hey Celsus!" she said, winking. I looked over and imagined myself snapping her neck right there. But too bad, she's too pretty for that death. Her blonde hair sashayed back and forth as she walked.

"Gonna volunteer?" she asked, pouting. I shrugged.

"You're really good at the knife throwing. You should try out for our Career training group." she said encouragingly. Truth is, I'm better than "really good." I'm superior. I've killed animals before just practicing. I make myself smile at the fact that I'm a shoe in for this Games year. Our escort takes the stage, and I realize that I've subconsiously walked to the center for the Reaping.

"Well, hello District 2!" She says, too cheerily.

"Our tributes, due to complications, were picked randomly! And this year's are... for the female tribute, Arabeske DuPointe!" she says. A orphanage trash girl starts shedding tears at her Gamed state. Whatever. She is going down. But then a shrill voice rips my vision of torturing Arabeske.

"I volunteer!" it says, and my competition takes the stage. _Oh, no. _Not her.

About a month ago, I was hunting illegally for target practice when I spied the orphanage's bully Phenilia training Livaria, the girl who volunteered. She had deadly aim and was willing to kill. This is bad. I forced myself to breathe slowly and calm down. Our escort, Wesseline, coughs into the microphone.

"If Livaria will please take the stage..." Livaria does. The escort knows her? Great. Favoritism. No matter. I'll charm this Livaria girl easily. Even though she's 16, I've got this.

"And for the male tribute, Celsus Pheonix!" she yells. No volunteering needed! Not that I could. Our District being a Career District, only one volunteer was accepted each Hunger Games. I took the stage and waved back at the crowd. My little "fan club" from school consisting of Tally, Ermine, and Jesselle. They all fainted when I waved. I examined my fellow tribute. She was tall….ish, with emotional hazel eyes and slightly wavy brown hair. She walked like she trusted herself, but no one else.

"So…." I prompted. She glared at me.

"Look," She said. Oh, dear. So much for 'winning her over.' "Let's just get this over with. No attachments, okay?" she said, turning to the smudged window pane. I nodded, hurt. Apparently people here can't be charmed.

Problem.


	6. Rex Carper

_**Rex Carper, District 3**_

I'm known as the Shadow. Why? I'm pretty tall for 16, have black hair and plain blue eyes, and never make myself known. I'm also pretty deadly. I've got skills with a sword and knife, but a bow could also be useful. I've got one sibling, a little brother named Le. He walks into my room early in the morning, hair all mussed up, to find me all dressed and ready for the Reaping. Of course, it's already 11:30, so I've got a right to be ready.

"Reaping?" he slurs, scratching his straight black hair and attempting to neaten it.

"Yeah." I say. Truthfully, there's not much more to discuss. He knows that I've kept myself enrolled in TCTC (The Career Training Center) by working at the dress shop lifting the heavier boxes from the back. It's pretty tiring, but it'll keep me alive in the arena, this training. My mom, Tina, walks into the doorway, pushing Le away from the door gently.

"Ready, boys? Oh, Le...come here sweetie. We need to get you dressed properly!" she fusses. Le flashes me a still sleepy alarmed look before I see my best friend Ethan walking up. We agreed to step into the Reaping area together, fully knowing that we'd both try to volunteer for the male spot. I wave at him through my room's creaky, gothic-style window then head outside. He's the picture of perfect, or so say the girls at the school (remember, I'm the Shadow.).

He has wavy, ash-blond hair and brown eyes so dark that they look black most of the time. He also has a dusting of freckles across his face, and matching dimples. The only reason that I ever earned his friendship is because...well, I don't really ponder such things. I'm kinda happy how they are. He runs ahead of me, taking his place in the 16-year-old section. Our "house" (aka shack) is right oustide the town square so that my Dad can run his small grocery shop from our home. Our escort, a fairly normal lady named Terrah, takes the stand.

"Well. Let's just get this over with, shall we? For the male tribute..."

She waves her hand delicately.

"I volunteer!" I shout, in unison with Ethan. Terrah narrows her eyes and flits them between the two of us. She nods, almost unseeably, to me. I walk forward solidly, feeling Ethan's cold stare on my neck. Terrah leans over to me.

"Name?" she asks in a whisper.

"Rex. Rex Carper." I say, stepping out of her immediate distance.

"Rex Carper!" she shouts into the microphone. A few quiet claps echo from the audience, though there's as least 400 people in it.

"For the female tribute..." she says, smiling with her rose-pink lips for effect.

"Sydney Lendley!" she finishes. A girl from the 15-year-old section trudges forward. She has wavy brown hair, long bangs, and russet **(a/n: google this)** brown eyes. Her face already shows slight smile wrinkles, suggesting that she laughs alot, though she's not showing emotion right now. She crosses her arms over her chest defiantly.

"May the odds be ever in your favor!" Terrah blurts into the microphone, then quickly ushers (shoves) us into the waiting train car. Terrah holds her hand out, but I just stare at it.

"You'll wait here for an hour and get to know each other." she commands, and we sit down on two velvet bench seats. Sydney cuts her eyes at me. She could be a model or a nobody, for all I know about her.

"Hi." she says blankly, drawing out her Token, a book.

Who brings a book to the Games? Apparently, her. I've only brought a compass, and I hope that they don't strip me of it.

"What are you reading?" I ask. She smiles.

"Fairy Tales. I've had this book since I was three. It was my first book, and it'll probably be my last." she sighed regretfully. She must really enjoy it, then.

"Skill?" I ask tenativly. She leans forward.

"Bows and arrows." she states. That's it? Wow. Maybe she thinks that her looks will coast her through the Games. First strike. I lean back into my seat, grinning a little myself. These Games were already about wrapped up.


	7. Sydney Lendley

_**A/N: OKAY, to clear up any confusion: Rex was sneaking across some borders to get to the TCTC, and only to survive. They don't exactly say "Hey, we can't take your money for you to get trained because you don't live here." :) Read on.**_

_**Sydney Lendley, District 3**_

I wake up knowing that I probably won't survive. The chances of my crazy, messed-up plan working are slim. But still, I must try. I pull my wavy brown hair into four different styles before just leaving it as-is. If I don't look good, and I'm no beauty, then no one in the ring (including the guys) will ever exept my Alliance. I've been planning this day for ages. And now that I'm 15, my overprotective parents have to learn a lesson: I don't need to be babied. I can live on my own. I have to. I'm smarter and more clever than even my teachers realize. I tried at first to wow them with my writing, but they just ignored it or insisted that it wasn't that good. So when I dumb it down, I don't get beat up. It's that simple. I dress in my black knee high leggings with the lace section at the bottom, a tank top and a loose, low-cut tunic and push my older brother out of the way.

"Sydney!" he yells, annoyed. My little brother, Nathan, looks at our stiff postures and speaks.

"What are you guys fighting about now?" he asks. My older brother Jason shrugs and pushes me to the side. I sneer at his turned form. Nathan frowns.

"What if you get Reaped?" he asks. I pull him closer. He's only 1 and 3/4 years younger than me, but a foot shorter and 2 grades behind me.

"You know my plan." I tell him, then let him go. His freckled face betrays worry. I turn and head down the hall. The smell of burning toast rakes my nose. My mom, Bekah, tells me that I'm the last one to get up and to clean the kitchen when I'm done eating. I nod, staring at my little sister Lillian from across the table. She's munching on a peach from our backyard.

"Morning, sissy!" she says, breaking into a grin. I grimace inwardly. I'm not one for cutsie nicknames...or emotion, now that I come to think about it. Life must go on.

"Morning." I grunt. I leave the table after a cup of coffee, knowing that I'll be well fed on my way to the Capitol. I walk to the Reaping with my best friends Alissa, Lydia, and Michelle. They're all one year older than me except Lydia, who can usually be found wearing black. My heart lifts two notches when I see them.

"...and then...Special Table!" laughs Michelle, repeating one of our inside jokes. We reach the Reaping area, and I wave to Jeremiah, one of the few people who gets my writing. My friends leave for the 16-year-old section, and Lydia, true to her clothing color, disappears to the front of the crowd, her being much shorter than me. In the 18-year-old section stands Yancy, one of my friends from school. I yell some petty insult in Spanish at him, smiling. It's another of my inside jokes. He yells back at me in German, which I (coincedentally) can't understand. Our escort, Terrah, takes the stand. Her nose is small and pinched.

"Well. Let's get this over with, shall we? For the male tribute..."

I sense our whole group tense. Two boys from the 16-year-old section yell that they volunteer at the same time. I turn to see them. One looks almost identical to Nathan, but the other is (in my opinion) very good-looking. He has spiky black hair and bluer-than-blue eyes and is taller than me. She calls for him to join her on the stage. She whispers something to him.

"Rex Carper!" she yells. Ah, so that's his name. I clap gently. I'm the only one who does anything at all.

"and for the female tribute...Sydney Lendley!" she says. I breathe in silently, then walk onto the stage reluctantly. I was almost hoping that I wouldn't get picked, but my destiny chose me. I stand next to Rex and then Terrah says some indistinct words into the microphone. We're pushed into our train car. Terrah tells us to get to know each other.

"Hi." I say nervously, drawing out my favorite book, my Token. His eyes study it.

"What are you reading?" he asks. I can't help it, I smile. When I do smile, my eyes squint up good-naturedly.

"Fairy Tales. I've had this book since I was three. It was my first book, and it'll probably be my last." I answer, sighing. I'd hope to have it wether my plan works or no.

"Skill?" he asks. Before I can strategize and stop myself, I blurt it out.

"Bows and arrows." I say, biting my lip after. He leans back into his seat, smiling like he knows that I'm doomed.

He probably does.


	8. Scorpio Trough

_**A/N: In case you haven't noticed, I have spelling errors, 'cause I still use Wordpad...don't ask why, I just do. Sorry!**_

_**Scorpio Trough, District 4**_

I woke up before even the sun registered the day. The sky was tinted pink, blue, and purple hues from the chased night into the Reaping day. I hauled a dripping net from the side of my creaky boat to find a few small fish, nothing more. Usually they were biting about now. Maybe even they sensed the tension at the Reaping. It's worth a theory. I squinted my eyes to peer a smallish shadow on the nearby dock.

It was my little brother, Quarius. I waved, and he pulled my oily rope from the slivery green water to draw me in. He wiped his hands on his shirt.

"How many?" he asked. I shrugged, holding up the nearly empty net. He nodded.

"Let's go. Mom's waiting." he said, but there was a hint of sadness in his voice. No surprise. Quarius was just a baby when my father left. I still remembered him, but maybe I'd do better for me to forget even that. We walked across the dusty lane of Dewberry St. up to the Reaping square. My mother, Ariel, wrung her lace gloves together nervously. The gloves were the only the thing besides his fishing gear and the house that my father, Orion, left me. He named me after the constellation Scorpio, the scorpion, just as he was named Orion, after the hunter constellation.

"Someday," he's say, hooking another worm, "I'll bring you do the observatory in the Capitol." His promises were all dust in the wind now.

Our escort, a man who was dressed in a battered brown suit, tapped the microphone, causing it to squeal.

"Now then, let's get started." he said. He concentrated at the Reaping list, which I could see had pen marks circling names. But that would mean...

"Scorpio Trough to the stage, please." he spoke my fate. I drifted forward as if in a dream, a nightmare.

"And for the female, ahem, tribute, Ari Granhort!" he yelled. The speakers screamed.

A younger-looking girl with straight blond hair walked up the unstable stairs to the stage. She looked nervous. Her family consisted of her parents, and they shot her tired faces. No matter. She drew out what I guessed was her Token, a small golden nugget. I looked at my empty pockets and realized that the only thing for a Token I had with me was my old fishing line, which was sure to be revoked. Without Dewberry Lake, I don't know how life'll go on.

But it must. And it will.

_**Really enjoyed this character...**_


	9. Ari Granhort

_**Ari Granhort, District 4**_

Truthfully, my life is great. Partially. I've been an only child on-and-off for a few years, with two siblings that recently perished. Daswin died from a tracker jacket sting, and Tayna competed in the past Hunger Games. Tragic, really, but I don't mind. My Mother, Maty, has had countless children, most not surviving for more than a few days. I made a list. Here it is; They are in list of the most recent ones last.

1. Rose-Lily (Died from sickness)

2. Wesley (Too weak)

3. Qelle (Tracker Jackets)

4. Deninia (Accidentaly drowned)

5. Peterson (unknown cause)

6. Delilah-Marie (sickness)

7. Jason-Logan (starvation)

Each of them looked completely different. Rose-Lily had snow white skin and warm brown eyes, she died at 1 day old. Wesley had ash blond hair and ice-cold blue eyes. Quelle died when she was two, she had identical dimples on the sides of her mouth. Deninia was a favorite, with her matching brown eyes and hair, a favored pairing here. Peterson disappeared. Delilah-Marie was sick from day one, and Jason-Logan...we couldn't feed him. And now my Mother was expecting her first set of twin girls. She said that to feed them I would have to win the Hunger Games, and so I shall. The girls, she said, were to be named, Nannalee and Lydianna, after my middle names. My full name?

Arianna Lydianna Nannalee Granhort. What a name for me, huh?

So I will volunteer. The escort for our district was a tall, skinny man who tapped the microphone loudly.

"Now then, let's get started." he squeaked. He furrowed his brow looking at his offical papers.

"Scorpio Trough to the stage, please." he announced. I faintly registered a boy walking up. My mother nudged me.

"That's the male tribute." she whispered. I glared at her.

"I know that!" I snapped. She nodded slightly.

"And for the female, ahem, tribute, Ari Granhort!" our escort boomed. I walked up onstage, and things are going terribly. I felt for our only left money, a golden nugget that was to be my Token. I stared at my mother, and the soon-to-be twins. _This is for them, _I thought, squeezing the precious metal tightly.


	10. Very Sorryness

**_Writer's Block. Don'tcha hate it?_**

**_I'll have the chapters up as soon as I can be inspired._**

**_Very sorry, please continue to keep a record of your points!_**

**_You can, however, e-mail a request for ME to track your points. See page for email._**


	11. Javok Rain

_**District 5, Javok Rain**_

The morning was crisp. The cool air sent tendrils of fog around the pasture that surrounded our house. Many years ago, corn would have been growing, and cows grazing. Now, after the rebellion, the overgrown grass and wildflowers were set to mock us and our misfortune. Thankfully we had Aunt Adelaide. She lived in the rich person section of town. She held the key to our next meals. Her husband was the great-grandson of our richest relative, long dead. His money had been bestowed upon her. Twice a year, Auntie A (as the commanded we call her) traveled to the Capitol to insure that her funds were well-placed. Of course, she always tapped in on the Capitol's fashions, so her skin was now a sickeningly bright shade of pink. As I stood in the pasture, boots on and overalls buckled, I heard her high-pitched whine from our back door.

"Java!" she screeched. This was her favorite nickname for me, after Java Tootle, her most faithful Capitol companion. He often visited her. His teeth were sharpened to a point, and he was about my age, and about twice as vicious. She called him Tootles. Sighing, I trudged back towards the sagging, misshapen form of our cottage. I opened the back door and slammed it. My mother turned sharp blue eyes on me.

"I've told you many times, Javok, don't slam that door!"

"Yes ma'am." I offered.

I washed my hands up with a barrel of clean-ish water kept around for Adelaide's visits. Today, Java was with us. He was currently forking momentous amounts of shriveled green beans into his mouth. Precious food all washed down with a glass of our only luxury drink: Poppy May's Apple Cider. He gave no thought to us and our money. His cheeks bulged with fat and the food he so noisily chewed. My older sister, Sindy, stared at him in shock. My father coughed.

"So, what's the new style in the Capitol fashion?" he tried. Java smiled through his mouthful of potato salad.

"Well, studded rhinestone heels are positively stunning on the right foot."

My mother looked hopeful, glancing desolately at her calloused heels.

"On the most pampered feet, he means." piped Aunt Adelaide. Mother picked at her green beans. The two exchanged snickers. Aunt Adelaide was Mother's older half-sister. Their difference in age was fifteen years. I set my fork down.

"Well, I'm going to go dress for the Reaping." I announced. Aunt Adelaide parted her grotesquely purpled lips.

"That's right! I almost forgot." Here she added a ridiculous laugh, "Being in the capitol and all. Though while I was there, I did attend the loveliest Hunger Games party…"

I stalked away, disgusted with her. Sindy followed. I went to my room and prepared myself on the reflection of a broken shard of mirror. I combed my hair back. Defeatedly, I grabbed my token: a silver chain to wear around my neck. It was given to me by my favorite cousin: Alec. He died when we were seven. Sometimes, I think that my mother likes Java more than me because she misses Alec, too. I shined my boots, rubbing the shining cloth over the leather until it looked presentable. Sindy had dressed in mother's old party dress: it was a clear, beautiful green, lighter than the moss that grew outside. She tied a ribbon to match in her hair. It was pulled back into a tight ponytail. She looked beautiful. She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Well, let's go." She said sharply. I followed her. Aunt Adelaide began to gush on how beautiful Sindy looked and how I could really use a new pair of jeans and how Java found the most delightful dress at some Capitol boutique the other day….

I tuned her out after that. The Reaping was a solemn event. The silence was deafening. We were late, so the Capitol announcer, Pip, started to announce. He drew the girl's name. She walked up. I didn't notice who she was.

Then the boys name. Pip accidentally dropped the slip of paper. Laughing at her mistake, she opened it up.

"Javok Rain."

The crowd was at a stand-still. My feet kicked the dust up as I walked up onstage.

My life was over….or it would be, all too soon.


	12. Pippa Mason

Pippa Mason, District 5

I sat up in bed, my usually smooth red hair frizzing out to both sides in an unruly mob.

My little siblings Alyssa and Lukas appeared in my doorway. They knew that what I was about to do today was dangerous. Lukas in particular, blond hair brushed down, looked at me with particular interest.

"Did you tell Mom?" he asked. I studied my bedsheet's swirly pattern.

Lukas crossed his arms.

"Think, Pippa! She'll go crazy!" Alyssa chided. Who was she, Mother?

"Be quiet! I know what I'm doing!" I yelled back. The twins retreated into the shadows of the hallway. I sighed loudly, pulling myself from my bed. I shut my door and dressed in a cream-colored flowy mini-like dress with brown flats. It's not like I need to look taller, I'm already 5' 9". I ran a brush through my hair, the curls laying glossy and clean between my shoulder blades. The little gold flecks in my eyes shined back at me, and I smiled, my dimples appearing. I pounded my feet on the steps, hoping to alert my Mom that I was on my way down. A dingy sepia-colored photo hung on the wall, of my Mom and Dad. I turned my head, a rougue tear slipping down my cheek. I fought the urge to smash the frame; I wiped the tear away and continued down.

"Mom?" I asked. No answer. I peered out the window. She was scattering food for the chickens. I walked out into the leafy garden, intoxicating scents drifting into my nose. My horse, Sky Spirit, was a piercing white blot on the green field and blue sky. I ran towards her. Finally, she whinnied a greeting. I patted her mane.

"Good girl. Wanna head to the Reaping?" I questioned. She shook at my touch. I bounced myself onto her back, knowing that I could easily ride bareback to the Square. We cantered the way there. Marice Grayson smiled gruesomely from the 17-year-old section. I turned quietly and cursed under my breath. As I was about to flee the scene, Anson walked up. He was possibly my best friend. He grabbed my wrist.

"Pippa, this is dangerous. Are you sure about it?" he asked. I nodded, and he sighed and let me free. Our escort, a chubby gray-headed man, took the stand. He called a name, and a younger boy took the stand. A heard a faint weeping from a girl in another section. Then, as he was about to say the next tribute, I called out,

"I volunteer!"

The escort shook his flabby chin and grinned. He looked like Santa.

"Well, we have our tributes, and possibly a winner from our District this year!"

I couldn't help but think how right he was.


	13. Kassandra Umber

**(A/N: After a period of hiatus on this story, I'm back! Summer has begun! Anywho, I still need a male tribute for this District. Send the form (see reviews for the form) by May 10****th**** by PRIVATE MESSAGE ONLY! I couldn't find the documentation for this tribute, so I made up everything. If you submitted her, please let me know the proper information soon. I re-wrote Javok's chapter, so please read that. Thanks for being patient!)**

**Kassandra Umber, District 6**

I pouted in my room. I was refusing to go to the Reaping in my new dress. I looked like I belonged on a cupcake. The three-laced, three-tulled cream-colored dress was corseted in the front. I had the faintest idea that the dress was supposed to attract suitors from the wealthy Peacekeeper neighborhoods. I sighed.

"Are you coming out of there yet, Kassandra?" shouted my mother. I followed her voice to the foyer of our home. Potted plants fringed the room, along with tasteful art.

"Oh, don't you just look _darling_!" my mother doted. My father grunted approvingly. They had hired Matrer Tottle to do my hair. He was an import from the Capitol seeking the 'rugged' way of life in District 6. The first time I laid eyes on him, I asked him if he'd rather District thirteen with its radioactive waste. He had simply smiled and slicked his oily black hair back with his fingers. I hated him with a passion. The hairstyle he had created of my fine blond hair was no exception. Princess curls dangled around the complex updo. What kind of boys my parents hoped to attract, I had no idea. They'd rather drool over punk goddess Rachelle DiLont than ever flock to my wedding-worthy torture outfit. Rachelle had been my enemy since birth, when she kicked me in the face. Technically, she was my twin sister. My parents chose a favorite child of the set (me) and gave the other one to adoptive rich family DiLonts. I was the younger sister. My parents had no fears that I would get Reaped, so the Reaping was an annual excuse to dress me up in ridiculous outfits. I never protested. Fortunately, my parents were an endless spring of wealth, so money wasn't an object. We piled onto our carriages (another frivolous invention for the Reaping) and told our chauffeur to hurry. When we arrived, the Reaping had begun. The first name was the girls'. The announcer cleared his throat before reading a name into the microphone. I held my breath. Maybe I would get chosen. Maybe I wouldn't have to stay here. Maybe—

"Rachelle Umber"

What?

That was my sister's original name! She looked horrified to be associated with me. Her outfit was ani-mine, with a short, ripped gray minidress and large, high silver pumps. She swallowed and took the stage. Several of the guys from our age group whistled at her. She winked. No. This couldn't be happening! After all this, she still gets the attention! I can't let this happen. I took a shaky breath in and spoke loud enough for those gathered to hear me.

"I volunteer as tribute!"

Shocked faces turned to me. I smiled under them, because this kind of attention was better than none at all.


End file.
